


Back to Pitts

by ThatAj



Series: Exposure: One Step at a Time [2]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Mental Health Issues, POV First Person, POV Justin Taylor (Queer as Folk), Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-03
Updated: 2018-11-03
Packaged: 2019-08-16 22:04:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16503557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThatAj/pseuds/ThatAj
Summary: "No one really tells you what depression feels like."Justin returns to Pittsburgh and struggles.





	Back to Pitts

**Author's Note:**

> This work references suicide and other violent thoughts. If you or someone you know is struggling with suicidal thoughts the National Suicide Hotline is 1-800-273-TALK or The Trevor Project Lifeline for LGBTQIA+ folks is 1-866-488-7386 or www.thetrevorproject.org for chat and text options

I was pissed about the movie being cancelled. I was sad about losing the opportunity to get paid to do what I love. But I was so fucking relieved to go home.

When Brian surprised me, it was honestly like I could finally breathe. My days in LA were awesome. Brian described me as “lighter.” I hadn’t realized that there was a weight on me since…god knows when. It was like everything was in pastels before and now life was in bright bold color. I don’t know what it was - whether it was the sun, whether it was that LA is just a more colorful place, or if was being in a job I truly loved. Maybe all three.

But I was also homesick. Mostly for Brian. Sure we kept in touch. Honestly? We kept in better touch than I would have predicted. But for an advertising god, Brian’s not so good with the spoken communication so even if we were in touch daily, I didn’t feel like he was a part of my life or I was a part of his the way I am when I am right there with him to see him and to feel him. I missed his touch. Something I lost after the bashing was being able to “speak” Brian Kinney - to understand what wasn’t said with words but rather with non-verbal communication - touch, looks, and actions. That’s why the whole Ethan fiasco happened. Since then, I’ve been regaining my fluency in Kinney - I’m not where I was before the bashing, when I told Brian I was onto him - and I don’t know if I’ll ever be. And Brian has since realized I do need words now more than I did. God, I don’t know why or how I am the person Brian fucking Kinney was willing to change for. He’s still Brian and we do okay. But separate us physically and it’s like one of us speaks Spanish and the other Italian. We make do, but nowhere near as good as when we can use both verbal and non-verbal communication.

I was in constant contact with everyone in Pitts trying to soak up as much Brian as I could like secondhand smoke. Emmett would describe in perfect detail the outfits Brian wore and his new haircut. Ted would tell me about how he was going after his old Vanguard clients ruthlessly and bringing in more money than Ted could have predicted in his wildest dreams. Although I don’t imagine Ted’s dreams get very wild at all. Mel would tell me about how Brian took Gus out every weekend to the park or the zoo to make sure he was doing okay even though his mommies were separated. Lindsey would describe Brian’s melancholy air and assure me that he missed me, not that I doubted it. Mikey would tell me that Brian would ask him if he had heard how the movie was going and he told me stories about going out with Brian and how yeah he was drinking a bit more and tricking, while assuring me that Brian did miss me, in his own way. It’s not like I expected him to be celibate. I certainly wasn’t. I just missed him, all of him. It seemed like some got that I was just trying to connect with all the pieces of Brian that I didn’t get from phone sex and goofy emails. (Although I fucking loved our emails - I don’t think anyone else really gets to see his sense of humor, but it’s one of the parts of him I love the most.) Others maybe thought I was pumping them for information to determine if he missed me. Yeah, I _know_ he missed me. But fuck, when he came to visit, I realized no one was telling him that I missed him. Or even passed along what I shared about my life in LA so that he could get the parts of me that he may not have gotten from our calls, because you know he wouldn’t actually ask. How can our family love him so much but not be able to read him like the fucking open book that he is?

So when I arrived back in Pittsburgh, I was so fucking relieved to be back in the loft with Brian. So fucking relieved. And I hoped I could stay in one place for a bit longer this time. Feel like I had a home.

But that lightness? Those bold colors that infused my life? I started to feel heavier. The world around me faded to pastels. And then it just turned dark.

My great aunt tells a story about someone’s birthday (I can’t remember whose), and when they turned out out the lights, in order to bring the cake with lit candles in, someone accidentally turned off too many lights and the room went completely black. My great aunt would laugh and say, “I was so scared! I thought I had died!” That’s how I felt. Complete darkness. And I wasn’t entirely certain I hadn’t died.

I don’t know when I realized that I was feeling depressed. No one really tells you what depression feels like. If you asked me - before I was depressed - what I imagined it felt like, I would have described it as sadness. Unrelenting sadness maybe, but sadness.

Sadness is something. Depression? Depression is a big fat nothing. Just nothing at all. The total absence of anything.

When I got back to Pittsburgh, and after I reunited with Brian and we had spent the better part of a weekend the loft fucking, things returned to how they were. I returned to waiting tables at the diner and working on Rage with Michael. The cancellation of the movie had enraged our fan base and they were clamoring for us to release more and more issues. I don’t know if I hadn’t noticed feeling this way in the past but now, having LA to compare it to, everything felt duller. Or if I hadn’t felt this way before and it was new. But everything felt less bright.

I swear I remembered enjoying working at the diner - I had good camaraderie with Kiki and the others who worked there. I liked hearing everyone’s stories about what and whom they had done the night before. I looked forward to the families that were coming in with more frequency now that queers were beginning to realize that they had just as much right to have kids as the breeders who have been fucking up their kids for thousands of years. But now? I couldn’t get myself up in time for the early shifts - and I couldn’t imagine how I ever could have - so I switched all my shifts to afternoons and nights. I found myself irritable with everyone - my irresponsible coworkers, the complaining diners, the screaming kids. What’s more, I had no motivation to work on Rage. I couldn’t come up with any storylines. My hand gave out more frequently and hurt more intensely than it ever had - even when I was working on the movie. I got crabby and short with Michael. And Brian? Brian started to complain that he hardly saw me. Let that one sink in. It was true. I was exhausted all the time and in bed - and not in a positive life affirming way - as soon as I got home, whatever time that was. I stayed in bed until the last possible second every morning. It felt like a struggle to even shower. I began begging off going to Babylon and then even Woody’s, complaining I was too tired.

Brian started to encourage me to quit the diner. Well he encouraged me with more fervor than usual, saying it was never worth the money, but if I was so exhausted from it now, it definitely wasn’t worth it. I didn’t quit, I think because I knew I needed something, no matter how frustrated I felt about it, to get me out of the loft most days. Otherwise, I wouldn’t get out of bed. On days that Brian worked and I didn’t, he would come home and find me hardly moved from our bed. And no matter how long I stayed in bed, I always still felt tired. And I was really just laying in bed, not sleeping but not really awake either. Sometimes chain smoking just to give myself something to do. I definitely wasn’t sleeping well. Nightmares were back with a frequency and intensity I hadn’t experienced since right after the bashing. I would lay awake, terrified to go to sleep not only for myself but also because I knew the nightmares woke Brian. I was also terrified by my own thoughts. I would get these images of something terrible, something violent, happening to Brian. Or to Gus. I was scared and also so guilty for even being able to imagine such horrific images. I mean, what kind of monster can dream up such sickening scenes?

I felt guilty and so fucking fearful that somehow by imagining it, by putting that thought out there into the universe, it made it more likely that something terrible would happen. I spent my time trying to reassure myself - making sure I still felt horrified by these images, that I didn’t secretly want them to happen. Repeating to myself, “They’re fine, they’re fine. I’m fine, I’m fine.” I would desperately want to call to make sure Brian was okay and Gus was okay, if I was lying there during the day with these thoughts. But I held back. I was worried that Brian would notice if I suddenly started calling him during the day for no fucking reason. If I had to admit to him what it was I was thinking, I was sure he would kick me out. Who wants to be with someone who spends the better part of the day preoccupied with images of violence happening to them or to their kid? I was afraid he would think I really wanted these things to happen. I was afraid I really did want them to happen. Why else would I think them? I also had images of killing myself. And I was pretty sure I didn’t want to die, but I was terrified I would act on these thoughts even if I didn’t want to die. And I couldn’t be sure. How did I know I didn’t want to die? Especially with images like the ones that crowded my mind. I would lie perfectly still to assure myself that I wasn’t somehow acting on thoughts of suicide without my own consent. And these thoughts weren’t even the worst part, if you can fucking imagine.

And the absolute fucking worst is that the idea of fucking just seemed to fall out of my head. I mean, when Brian initiated, my body and my mind responded and I loved fucking as much as I ever did, thank god. It was just about the only thing I did enjoy. But I never thought to initiate. Like it never crossed my mind. And all these changes happened so slowly. If this had all happened overnight one day, I would have been scared shitless. No, it was a slow creep until this was what my life looked like.

If this wasn’t depression already, it would have made me super fucking depressed.

I felt so badly for Brian. I don’t know how he made sense of all these changes. But he was the one who noticed. Or maybe it was just that he was the only one who said something. I don’t know how I appeared to the outside.

One day, six months or so after returning from LA, I got home from an afternoon shift at the diner and Brian was already there. On a weekday.

“Brian! What are you doing home? Is everything okay?” Sometimes he would come home during the day if he knew I wasn’t working to have lunch with me before returning to the office. It was one of those habits that developed in response to all the changes in me, but I don’t think he did it consciously. Knowing he was coming home for lunch got me out of bed and preparing something, no matter how simple. My appetite wasn’t super great at that time. But I worked that day and Brian knew my schedule. Plus he was changed into jeans and a t-shirt, not in the Armani he had been wearing that morning.

“There was nothing pressing that needed to get done, so I decided to make it an early day.”

Well fuck me. This was unheard of. Albeit an early day for Brian was still 5 PM.

“You did what? Why?”

“I can’t come home early if I want to?”

“Of course you can, I just can’t recall you ever wanting to.”

He shrugged one shoulder, “Well I wanted to today.”

“Okay…I’m going to go shower. I stink like onion rings.”

“Delightful. Sunshine, go shower.”

After I showered and pulled on some sweats and a t shirt, I returned to the living room. Brian was sitting on the sofa with whiskey in hand and staring off into space. I grabbed a beer from the fridge and sat down next to him. He looked over at me and I could immediately see concern and worry on his face. I assumed something must have happened at Kinnetik.

“Brian? What happened today?” I’m sure I must have looked panicked. I felt panicked. Had something terrible happened? Did something happen to Gus? Someone would have called me at the diner, right? I felt tears prick my eyes. Damnit. 

“Justin, listen, are you listening?”

I swallowed and nodded.

“Nothing bad happened today. Everyone is okay.” Maybe I was asking for reassurance more frequently than I realized. “I’m just…worried…about you,” he said softly.

Me? Oh.

“Sunshine,” he started and looked away and then back at me. He looked stricken and his eyes seemed to melt with worry. “You don’t seem yourself. You complain about the diner all the time and you’re late to your shifts, but you won’t quit. You’ve talked about renting studio space, but as far I as I know you haven’t gone to see any. I don’t know the last time you painted. Mikey has said he’s been trying to get in touch with you to work on Rage but he can’t track you down or you say you’ve been busy. I know you haven’t been busy. You don’t go out with me and the guys anymore. You seem to be in bed all the time, exhausted and I know you haven’t been sleeping well.”

Oh.

“Any one of those things on their own, okay. You’ve always liked working at the diner. I can’t imagine why. But if you no longer like it, which shows some good taste finally, then quit. I’ve been telling you to quit for years. You don’t want to work on Rage anymore? I guess I can understand after the disappointment of the movie. Fine, but you need to talk to Mikey about it. You don’t have to go out with me if you don’t want to. I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do. Fine. I can’t imagine why you’re not painting, but if you’re not feeling it right now, fine. But all together? I don’t understand.”

I don’t know if I had ever heard Brian speak in a paragraph before.

“Brian…I don’t know.”

He took a deep breath in and let a ragged exhale out. The worry seemed to morph into fear.

“It’s like you’re withdrawing from everything. Is it…me? Is it…us? Justin, all I ask for is honesty. If you don’t want to…do…this,” he said as he gestured between us, “anymore, that’s…I don’t want you to do anything, to stay …if you’re not…happy.” He looked away, over my shoulder, and then back to my face and into my eyes.

Oh god, the way he looked at me. The tears that had threatened me earlier, welled up in my eyes and poured down my cheeks. My heart hurt.

Seeing the tears, he looked down and whispered, “Shit,” and took another deep breath.

“Brian,” he was still looking down at his hands. “Brian.” He glanced up and back down. “It’s not you. It’s not us. God no. This is the only thing I actually feel sure of right now.” I put my hand on top of his.

He looked up at me. “It’s not this?”

“No.”

He let out an exhale as though he had been holding his breath and rubbed his hand down over his face. The relief was palpable.

“Then...?”

“I don’t fucking know. You’re right. I haven’t been…myself recently. I don’t know for how long. But yeah, things don’t feel right. I don’t know what’s wrong.”

“I can’t believe I’m fucking asking this. The things you make me do. What does it feel like?”

Holy shit, Brian Kinney just asked me about feelings.

“What does it feel like?”

“Yeah, that’s what I asked. Don’t go repeating it, I have a reputation to maintain.”

“It feels like nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah like nothing I do feels like anything. Unless I’m irritated, it just feels like going through the motions under water or in slow motion.”

“Just going through the motions?”

“Yeah for everything. Except when we’re fucking. That’s the only time I feel much of anything.”

“Well thank fuck for that.”

“Yeah.”

“And the nightmares?”

“Like every time I fall asleep. Bad ones. And like day-mares to.”

“Flashbacks?”

“No…just gruesome thoughts that won’t go away no matter what I do.”

“Thoughts like?”

I shivered. “Like just bad thoughts.”

“Bad thoughts?”

“Yeah.”

“Sunshine?”

“Yeah?”

He stood up and walked over to the bar cart and poured himself another whiskey, swallowed it, and poured another. “Need anything?”

“No thanks.”

He paced back and forth on the other side of the coffee table while he drank, pausing every so often to look at me. When he finished his drink he came back and sat down next to me. I just watched him.

“Sunshine?”

“Yeah?”

“Are you…do you want to…have you…are you thinking about killing yourself?”

“No.”

…

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t know!” I could hear the anger masking the fear.

“I don’t know. I keep thinking about it. But I don’t think I want to die. I don’t think so at least.”

“But…you’re not sure…you want to…live?” The last word was a whisper.

“Yeah.”

…

“The thoughts won’t go away. I wouldn’t be having those thoughts if I didn’t want to die, would I?”

He reached out and pulled me to him, my head against his collarbone. I could feel my tears wetting his shirt. I felt Brian take a ragged breath.

“Hey hey hey,” he whispered into my hair. I looked up at him, and he bent down and kissed me strong on the mouth. He licked my lips until I opened my mouth and we kissed. I tasted the whiskey on his breath along with the faint taste of cigarettes and something that is uniquely Brian.

I moved so I was straddling his lap. He ran his hands up and down my back under my shirt and I moaned softly. He slid a hand into my pants and cupped my ass. I put a hand on the back of his head, pulling him closer into the kiss. I slid my other hand under his shirt and to his chest, rubbing and gently pinching his nipples, where I know he’s sensitive. His head fell back and he groaned, slipping his hand from my ass to unbutton my pants and reach for the lube, which I realized only after I felt the initial cold as he ran his fingers down my crack and began to circle my hole. I kissed his neck and then bit down on his shoulder. “Brian,” I whispered. “Brian.”

I pushed back on his hand and I felt him slip a finger and then two in as he started to prepare me. I began to open his pants and slipped my hand in to stroke his hard cock. I pulled back and grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it off. He freed his hands so I could pull his shirt off as well. I needed to feel my chest against his, skin against skin. I returned my hand to his cock and he moaned and pushed his fingers in deeper. “Fuck,” I groaned. “God, fuck…please Brian. Fuck.”

He gently removed his fingers and I got off his lap. We both stood up and quickly took our pants off as he also reached for a condom. I grabbed it and put it on him, using some lube to stroke him, and gently pushed him back onto the couch. I climbed back on top of him and lowered myself, until he was deep inside me. I stilled for a moment to adjust, looking into his eyes. His pupils dilated with lust. I leaned forward and kissed him and began to rock back and forth, his hands back on my ass, helping set the rhythm. “Fuckkkk Justin.” I pulled away from the kiss and began to whisper in between kisses to his neck and nibbles on his earlobe. I know he fucking loves it when I talk dirty. “Fuck Brian, you are so hard inside me. So deep. Yesss. I fucking love riding you, bottoming from the top. Fucking love it.” And he gives it right back to me, “So hot, so tight. Justin. Fuck, I love watching you - seeing you take your pleasure. Fuck, just like that. Yes, let me see you touch yourself.”

I grabbed my cock with a lubed hand and began jerking. He removed one hand from my ass and placed it over mine, helping set the rhythm there too. I felt him thrust from underneath me, knowing he was close. I picked up the pace. He froze and groaned, I could feel his abs tremble as he came. After coming, he continued to thrust and jerk my cock until I felt my orgasm begin in my stomach and spread through my body. Just before I came, Brian hoarsely whispered, “Look at me,” and I opened my eyes and looked into his. I rocked quickly a few more times, stilled, moaned and felt come on my stomach and hand. I collapsed with my forehead on Brian’s shoulder while I caught my breath. After a few minutes, I felt Brian’s hand run up and down my back. He held the condom with the other hand and I carefully got off of his lap. He got up to throw out the condom and grab a warm, damp washcloth to clean us both off. When he sat back down on the couch, I curled up into him.

“Fuck.”

“Mmmhmmm.”

“Fuck. Sunshine, I’ve got to ask. When you think about killing yourself. You said, you see images in your mind?”

“Uh huh.”

“Do you see what you would do?”

I groaned and turned more closely into him.

“Justin.”

“Yeah, yes, I do.”

“What…what do you imagine?”

I spoke into his chest. I felt embarrassed, guilty, and ashamed. “I see myself with one of the butcher knives. Stabbing myself like in the stomach or heart.”

I felt him stiffen and I looked up at him. “I’m sorry. Brian? I’m sorry.”

He looked down at me, clearly trying to make his face blank but failing to hide the worry. Oh god, I hated myself.

“Justin, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he spoke evenly and firmly, as if daring me to disagree. “I know you aren’t choosing to feel this way, to think this way. I just...” and here his voice broke a little, and I didn’t know it was possible to hate myself more but it was and I did. “I just want you alive. I want you to want to be alive. I don’t know…what I would do…Justin, god, if something…if I could have…fuck!” He looked up and blinked furiously.

He looked back at me and said, “I don’t know what to do.”

“Neither do I,” I said softly.

“Do you think you might…act on the thoughts?”

I was terrified I would and said as much, “I don’t…I don’t know. I don’t think I want to but I don’t actually know what I want. They’re just there…the thoughts. And they won’t go away. I’ve tried. I’ve really tried to get rid of them. I promise I have.” I felt desperate. I didn’t want him to think I wasn’t trying, that I was okay with this.

“I know.”

“But…it’s getting worse. No matter what I do, they keep coming back and it’s worse than before.”

Brian blinked and swallowed, and I saw the tears well up despite his efforts.

“Brian?”

He looked at me.

“I’m scared.”

“I know. Me too.”

…

“Do you think you need to go to the hospital?” I couldn’t tell whether he wanted me to or not. I dislike hospitals - I mean I don’t know anyone who likes them - but they make me nervous and remind me of after the bashing and the pain and the fear. But honestly? At that point, I just wanted to be able to stop thinking about it - about trying to stop myself from thinking or acting or hurting. I just wanted to give that responsibility to someone else. I couldn’t ask that of Brian though.

And Brian knows how much I dislike hospitals. So if he was asking if I should go…he must think I should. I think that scared me even more. That he thought it was so serious. I think I had secretly hoped that he would think it was all no big deal, that I was freaking myself out for no reason. But he was scared too.

“I don’t know.” I sighed.

…

“I’m just tired of worrying about if I will be able to stay safe. I’m just so tired.”

“Justin?”

“Yeah?”

“We should go.”

And that’s how I wound up on the psychiatric unit of good old Allegheny General for a 72-hour hold.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Infinite thanks to my beta TrueIllusion


End file.
